)O76 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE   TORCH-BEARERS 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


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BERRIES  OF  THE  BRIER,  AND  SON 
NETS  IN  SHADOW.  i6mo.  Cloth. 
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TORCH  -  BEARERS.  8vo.  Cloth.  Limp. 
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A  LAD'S  LOVE.  A  Story.  i6mo.  Cloth. 
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ALBRECHT.  A  Story.  i6mo.  Cloth.  Price, 
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PRINCE  VANCE.  A  Story  of  a  Prince  with 
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ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS. 


THE 


TORCH-BEARERS 


ARLO   BATES 


[DELIVERED  AT  THE  CENTENNIAL  OF  THE  INCORPORATION 
OF  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE,  JUNE  28,  1894] 


BOSTON 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS 
1894 


Copyright,  1894, 
BY  ARLO  BATES. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


f\NCE  in  this  place  I  saw  a  poet  stand, 
In  all  the  dignity  of  age,  with  hair 
White  as  the  foam  on  Androscoggins  falls ; 
And  heard  his  silver  voice  over  the  hush 
More  eloquent  than  noisy  plaudits  say  : 
"  O  Ccesar,  we  who  are  about  to  die 
Salute  you  !  "     While  all  those  who  listened  knew 
Fame  had  so  crowned  him  that  he  still  would  live 
When  death  had  done  its  worst.      To-day  the  grace 
Lies  in  the  high  occasion,  not  the  lay. 
To-day  we  mark  the  rounded  century, 
And  pause  to  say :  "  Our  fathers  have  done  well ; 
Let  us  take  counsel  what  their  sons  may  do? 

At  such  a  time,  in  such  a  place  as  this ; 
Here,  where  a  melancholy  whisper  comes 
From  the  thin  breezes  yearning  toward  sea  ; 
Where  wistful  sighs  of  long  remembrance  stir 
The  bosom  of  the  ever-murmuring  pines ; 


860209 


Here,  where  a  thousand  varied  memories 
Rise  up  to  waken  pride  or  touch  regret ; 
Where  our  lost  youth  lies  wait  and  peers  at  us 
As  if  some  dryad  shy  peeped  from  her  tree  ; 
What  word  is  fitting  here  and  fitting  now? 

We  find  our  hearts  too  full  for  lightsome  speech, 

The  burden  of  the  century  which  ends, 

The  burden  of  the  ending  century, 

Together  weigh  upon  us,  and  incite 

To  thoughts  of  grave  and  deep  solemnity. 

The  empty  babble  of  things  idly  said 

By  lip  alone  were  insult  to  the  time. 

Not  for  a  day  like  this  are  gleeful  song 

And  amorous  lay,  —  melodious  nightingales 

Fluting  enchantment  to  the  southern  moon  ; 

Gay  mockery  of  life,  like  dancing  foam 

Flashing  and  crackling  at  the  wine-cup's  brim. 

Not  for  a  day  like  this  regretful  plaint 

For  all  that  has  been,  but,  alas  !  is  not. 

Jocund  bravado  of  high-thoughted youth 


And  bitterness  of  grief-acquainted  age 

Alike  would  jar.     For,  lo,  here  Duty  waits 

With  finger  on  her  lip,  unsmiling,  stern,  — 

And  yet  with  eyes  of  passionate  desire 

Which  yearn  for  that  which  is  beyond  all  speech  ; 

Her  mien  austere,  and  yet  her  lofty  look 

An  inspiration  and  a  benison. 

It  is  in  Dutys  name  that  one  must  speak, 
Or  let  the  silence  prove  more  eloquent. 


THE    TORCH-BEARERS 


on  a  night  so  dark  it  might  have  been 
Ere    God    had    yet    commanded :     "  Be  there 

light !  " 
When  all  the  spirits  of  the  dread  unseen 

Had  burst  their  bonds,  and  joined  rebellious  fight, 
I  stood  among  the  fisher-folk,  and  heard 

The  innumerable  tumult  of  the  storm  sweep  down, 
Till  the  earth  quivered,  and  the  sea  seemed  stirred 

To  its  remotest  deeps,  where  they  who  drown 
Sleep  calm  in  water  still  as  lucent  stone. 

The  wind  and  wave  were  all  commingled.     Sea 
And  air  were  one.     The  beaten  surf  was  blown 

Like  sand  against  our  faces  ;   mockingly 
A  million  voices  clamored  in  the  dark, 

Deriding  human  might.     They  who  upheld 


10  THE   TORCH-BEARERS 

The  flaring  torches  stood  there  gaunt  and  stark, 

And  fought  for  breath ;  while  yet  they  stood  un- 

quelled,  — 
For  there  were  boats  at  sea. 

A  woman  lay 

Face  down  along  the  sand,  her  brown  hands  clenched, 
Her  hair  mixed  with  the  drifted  weed,  while  spray 

And  rain  and  icy  sleet  her  garments  drenched 
And  froze  her  as  she  lay  and  writhed.     Her  love 

Was  in  the  boats.     His  mother  at  her  head 
Crouched  with  white  locks  storm-torn  ;   while  bright 
above 

The  red  glare  by  the  flaring  torches  shed 
Fell  on  white  faces,  wild  with  fear  and  pain, 

Peering  with  eyes  hand-shaded  at  the  night 
In  vain  endeavor  some  faint  hope  to  gain. 

But  the  black  wall  of  darkness  beat  the  light 
Backward  as  from  a  block  of  ebony. 

The  spume  and  spray  like  snow-flakes  whirling  flew 
Where  the  torch-bearers  stood,  half  in  the  sea ; 

From  every  torch  the  flakes  of  red  flame  blew 
Backward,  as  float  the  blood-stained  tufts  of  down 

Torn  by  an  arrow  from  a  fleeing  bird. 


THE    TORCH-BEARERS  II 

The  wind  beat  down  the  flame,  the  rain  would  drown  : 

Almost  it  seemed  shrill  voices  might  be  heard 
Crying  against  the  beacon  set  to  guide 

The    tempest's    prey    to     safety.       "  Quench    it ! 

Quench !  " 
The  voices  clamored ;   while  the  angry  tide 

Leaped  on  the  bearers  to  drag  down  and  drench 
The  saving  flame.     Yet  none  the  less  they  held 

Their  bright,  wind-beaten  torches  high 
Amid  the  storm,  and  as  it  fiercer  swelled 

Flung  out  defiant  hope  to  sea  and  sky. 

II 

Like  those  brave  torch-bearers  around  whom  foam 

And  wind-blown  spray  flew  blindingly,  to-day 
Stands  man  upon  these  shores,  refuge  and  home 

Of  Liberty,  who  fled  in  sore  dismay 
Across  the  seas,  escaping  lash  and  chain,  — 

The  nameless  tortures  of  the  sullen  East, 
Where    souls    are    thrown    like    dice   and    manhood 
slain ;  — 

The  tyrannies  of  Europe,  rack  of  priest 
And  knout  of  Tzar,  the  dungeon  and  the  spy ;  — 

The  cunning  craft  of  Bismarks,  gluing  up 


12  THE   TORCH-BEARERS 

With  blood  an  empire  ;  —  the  infuriate  cry 

Of  France,  drunk  both  with  blood  and  pleasure's 

cup;  — 
England's  supreme  brutality,  which  leaps 

To  strike  each  weak,  defenceless  land,  and  leaves 
Her  bravest  sons  to  die  unsuccored  ;   keeps 

Ireland  in  chains  beneath  her  feet,  and  weaves 
A  net  of  tyrannies  around  the  earth 

Until  the  sun  can  never  on  them  set. 

Such  things  have  been.     Alas  for  man  when  birth 

Means  slavery ! 

Her  snowy  shoulders  wet 
With  unstaunched  blood,  torn  by  the  biting  lash  ; 

Her  wrists  scarred  with  the  gyves  ;  her  pleading  eyes 
Piteous  in  wild  entreaty ;   bruise  and  gash 

On  her  fair  brow,  —  fled  Liberty,  with  cries 
Which  startled  to  the  stars  with  piercing  dread. 

Daring  to  draw  our  daily  breath  like  men, 
To  walk  beneath  the  sky  with  lifted  head, 

How  should  we  know  man's  degradation  when 
His  every  heartbeat  slackens  with  the  fear 

Of  lash  and  chain,  —  life's  meaning  to  the  slave  ? 
It  was  from  this  fled  Liberty,  and  here 

She  finds  a  refuge  or  she  finds  a  grave. 


THE    TORCH-BEARERS  13 

For,  O  America,  our  country  !      Land 

Hid  in  the  west  through  centuries,  till  men 
Through  countless  tyrannies  could  understand 

The  priceless  worth  of  freedom,  —  once  again 
The  world  was  new-created  when  thy  shore 

First  knew  the  Pilgrim  keels ;   that  one  last  test 
The  race  might  make  of  manhood,  nor  give  o'er 

The  strife  with  evil  till  it  proved  its  best. 
Thy  true  sons  stand  as  torch-bearers,  to  hold 

A  guiding  light.     Here  the  last  stand  is  made. 
If  we  fail  here,  what  new  Columbus  bold, 

Steering  brave  prow  through  black  seas  unafraid, 
Finds  out  a  fresh  land  where  man  may  abide 

And  freedom  yet  be  saved  ?    The  whole  round  earth 
Has  seen  the  battle  fought.     Where  shall  men  hide 

From  tyranny  and  wrong,  where  life  have  worth, 
If  here  the  cause  succumb  ?      If  greed  of  gold 

Or  lust  of  power  or  falsehood  triumph  here, 
The  race  is  lost  !      A  globe  dispeopled,  cold, 

Rolled  down  the  void  a  voiceless,  lifeless  sphere, 
Were  not  so  stamped  by  all  which  hope  debars 

As  were  this  earth,  plunging  along  through  space 
Conquered  by  evil,  shamed  among  the  stars, 

Bearing  a  base,  enslaved,  dishonored  race ! 


14  THE    TORCH-BEARERS 

Here  has  the  battle  its  last  vantage  ground; 

Here  all  is  won  or  here  must  all  be  lost; 
Here  freedom's  trumpets  one  last  rally  sound  ; 

Here  to  the  breeze  its  blood-stained  flag  is  tossed. 
America,  last  hope  of  man  and  truth, 

Thy  name  must  through  all  coming  ages  be 
The  badge  unspeakable  of  shame  and  ruth, 

Or  glorious  pledge  that  man  through  truth  is  free. 
This  is  thy  destiny ;   the  choice  is  thine 

To  lead  all  nations  and  outshine  them  all;  — 
But  if  thou  failest,  deeper  shame  is  thine, 

And  none  shall  spare  to  mock  thee  in  thy  fall. 


Ill 


As  when  an  avalanche  among  the  hills 

Shakes  to  their  very  base  the  mountains  hoar 
And  with  a  din  of  vibrant  voices  fills 

All  air  and  sky,  there  answer  to  its  roar 
A  hundred  empty  echoes,  poor  and  thin, 

So  words  come  after  deeds  ;   so  must  words  stand 
For  all  that  men  hold  holiest,  all  they  win 

By  might  of  soul  no  less  than  strength  of  hand. 


THE   TORCH-BEARERS  15 

What  generations  desperately  brave 

Have  fought  through  war  and  woe,  through  doubt 

and  pain, 
To  break  the  bonds  which  make  of  man  a  slave ; 

How  poor  are  words  to  gather  up  their  gain ! 

*i 

We  hear  with  even,  hardly  quickened  breath 

Or  one  poor  thrill,  freedom's  supernal  name ; 
The  word  our  fathers  cried  in  blood  and  death 

Leaves  but  a  dying  echo,  weak  and  tame. 
We  read  the  patriots'  roll  with  hearts  unmoved, 

And  count  their  deeds  as  old  wives'  tales  grown 

stale ; 
The  glorious  fields  in  which  their  worth  was  proved 

Grow  thick  with  grass ;   heroic  memories  fail. 

O  men,  sons  of  the  world's  one  land  left  free, 

What  shall  bring  home  to  you  the  mighty  truth,  — 
The  burden  of  your  sacred  destiny, 

The  office  which  is  yours  in  very  sooth  ? 
What  word  will  make  you  feel  that  you  must  stand 

Like  those  torch-bearers  in  the  night  and  storm  ? 
That  mankind  struggles  desperate  toward  land,  — 

Lost,  if  your  beacon-light  do  not  inform 


1 6  THE    TORCH-BEARERS 

Their  tempest-blinded  eyes  ?     Not  yours  to  sit, 

Sheltered  and  warm,  and  hear  the  gale  sweep  by 
Unheeded.      Let  the  blazing  torch  be  lit, 

And  stand  like  heroes  where  the  surf  is  high  ! 
The  night  roars  round  us  as  if  tempests  cleft 

The  solid  earth  and  made  the  heavens  bow ; 
If  now  the  torches  fail,  what  hope  is  left,  — 

For  never  was  more  need  of  aid  than  now  ? 


IV 

Yet  not  alone  from  base  indifference 

Do  her  sons  fail  the  land  in  her  sore  need. 
Easy  it  were  to  arm  in  her  defence, 

And  on  the  splendid  fields  of  glory  bleed. 
The  land  lacks  not  sons  at  her  call  would  die,  — 

It  is  a  harder  task  for  her  to  live ! 
And  who  may  say  which  way  duty  doth  lie  ? 

Who  tell  what  aid  we  to  our  land  may  give  ? 
Lo  !   like  the  thunders  by  a  prophet  heard 

Telling  the  things  which  future  days  shall  see, 
Far  down  the  ages  rolls  the  mighty  word, 

The  voice  of  God :   "  The  Truth  shall  make  you 
free !  " 


THE    TORCH-BEARERS  17 

The  Truth  !    Not  now  we  fight  with  sword  and  lance, 

Nor  yet  with  eager  bullet  swift  for  prey  ; 
Strife  is  not  fiercest  now  where  foes  advance 

In  ranks  embattled,  in  mad  zeal  to  slay. 
Thus  have  men  fought  of  old,  and  thus  while  life 

Is  made  a  pawn  in  the  great  game  of  fate 
Men  may  fight  on  ;   but  keener  is  the  strife 

Where  bloodless  triumphs  upon  victory  wait. 

When  first  rude  savage  brutes  —  but  half  aware 

That  they  were  men  ;   feeling  their  doubtful  way 
To  reason  and  to  manhood,  —  chose  some  lair 

Where  crouched  and  huddled  like  wild  wolves  they 

lay, 
They  made  him  chief  who  beat  them  down  and  broke 

Their  pride  with  fear;  —  but  if  he  did  them  wrong, 
If  he  betrayed,  their  sullen  rage  awoke; 

And  stealing  on  him  stretched  in  sleep  along, 
They  slew  him,  — doing  sacrifice  to  truth 

By  very  treachery,  in  guiltless  crime. 

Oblivion-lost,  dull  generations,  youth 

And  age  melted  together  in  the  lapse  of  time, 


1 8  THE   TORCH-BEARERS 

Sped  from  the  womb  swift-footed  to  the  tomb ; 

And  learned  of  life  and  love  a  little,  learned 
Of  death  and  hate  how  much  !      From  out  the  gloom 

Of  those  dim  centuries,  long  since 'returned 
To  chaos  whence  they  came,  whatever  gleam 

Of  light  glances  to  sight  is  but  the  flare 
Of  sword  or  lance  ;  or,  if  a  brighter  beam 

Leap  up  a  moment,  't  is  the  dancing  glare 
Of  blazing  town,  or  pyre  where  in  flame 

Some  warrior  goes  in  fire  to  claim  reward 
For  hardihood  in  battle.     What  was  fame 

But  echo  from  the  din  of  fight  ?     Abhorred 
Was  he  who  dared  name  peace.     All  history 

Is  writ  in  blood  and  stained  with  battle-smoke ; 
While  still   that  word :    "  THE  TRUTH   SHALL   MAKE 
YOU  FREE! " 

Uncomprehended,  down  the  ages  spoke. 


But  what  is  truth  ?     Wise  sages  long  inurned 
And  countless  generations  craved  it  still 

With  unavailing  passion,  faith  which  yearned 
In  ecstasies  of  hope,  and  ardent  will 


THE    TORCH-BEARERS  19 

Which  stormed  high  heaven  and   groped  in  utmost 
deep. 

Since  time's  first  day  the  history  of  man 
Has  been  this  quest;  and  yet  of  all  who  sleep 

In  graves  unnumbered  how  few  won  to  scan 
The  open  secret  blazoned  all  around  ! 

What  far  lands  have   been  searched,  what  battles 

fought, 
What  stress  of  soul  endured ;   yet  men  have  found 

It  not !     And  found  it  not  because  they  sought 
For  that  which  is  not;  thinking  truth  a  thing, 

Cold  concrete  fact,  their  very  hands  might  touch, 
To  which  their  weakness,  their  despair  might  cling. 


How  could  they  know  the  truth,  deeming  it  such  ? 
How  many  ages  needed  man  to  learn 

That  that  which  changeless  is  may  changeful  show  ! 
Alters  the  sphered  moon,  although  it  turn 

With  varying  phases  to  our  eyes  below  ? 
Truth  is  not  brought  from  far ;   it  comes  not  fair 

Like  delved  gold  drudged  darkling  from  the  mine ; 
It  breathes  about  us  like  the  morning  air; 

For  every  eye  its  quenchless  glories  shine. 


20  THE    TORCH-BEARERS 

Wide  as  the  light,  truth  is  not  formal  creed, 

Or  fact  or  Jaw  or  theory  ;   it  takes 
A  thousand  shapes  protean,  now  in  deed 

And  now  in  doctrine,  like  a  wave  which  breaks 
Forever  on  the  jagged  rocks,  and  yet 

Is  never  twice  the  same.     A  passing  word 
Holds  it  a  moment,  as  a  jewel  set 

In  a  king's  signet  if  his  hand  be  stirred 
Kindles  with  sudden  light  then  darkens  straight ;  — 

So  with  the  word  upon  the  very  tongue 
Sudden  't  is  false.     Truth's  trumpet  tones  elate 

Awake  to  deeds  such  as  the  bards  have  sung,  — 
Then  ere  their  echoes  die  the  clear  notes  jar, 

And  harshest  discords  crash  upon  the  ear ; 
Till  that  which  has  been  truth  from  truth  is  far, 

And  they  who  fought  in  faith  shrink  back  in  fear. 

How  many  noble  souls  in  ages  old 

Have  given  life  itself  to  testify 
That  that  was  true  which  now  as  false  we  hold  ; 

Faiths  which  to-day  discarded,  trampled  lie 
Have  been  the  war-cry  thrilling  hearts  austere; 

Legions  have  rushed  their  triumph  to  achieve, 
And  with  their  blood  have  written  crimson-clear 

Upon  a  hundred  fields  :   "  This  we  believe  !  " 


THE   TORCH-BEARERS  21 

From  fallen  truth  to  truth  shall  fall  the  race 

Goes  ever  forward.     What  to-day  is  true 
To-morrow  will  be  false,  and  in  its  place 

New  creeds  as  frail  will  live  their  short  day  through. 
Like  bubbles  on  a  flood,  brief  as  a  breath, 

Yet  telling  how  the  stream  flows  ceaselessly, 
Truth's  brave  illusions  have  their  birth  and  death, 

Immutable  in  mutability. 
For  truth  is  as  a  ray  of  light  let  fall 

Upon  the  sea,  —  for  every  wavelet  bright 
A  different  beam  ;  the  same  for  all 

And  yet  diverse  in  every  mortal's  sight. 
It  were  as  easy  for  a  babe  to  reach 

And  gather  up  the  sunshine  on  the  floor 
As  to  enchain  elusive  truth  in  speech,  — 

Though  changeless  yet  evasive  evermore. 


VI 


Who  then  shall  know  truth  ?     Who  the  glory  claims 

To  feel  his  being  kindle  with  its  fire? 
How  amid  falsehood's  thousand  dancing  flames 

Know  the  pure  spark  of  man's  supreme  desire  ? 


22  THE   TORCH-BEARERS 

Stand  with  thyself  alone.     Let  mankind  be 

As  if  it  were  not.     Question  then  thy  soul: 
"  Say  now  what  thou  believest  ?  "     That  for  thee 

Is  truth  the  ultimate.     The  hoar  stars  roll 
No  surer  in  their  orbits,  firmly  stayed 

By  unseen  bonds  of  elemental  force, 
Than  man's  inmost  integrity  is  swayed 

By  that  which  is  of  verity  the  source. 


Eons  through  space  and  through  eternity 

The  universe  sweeps  forward  on  its  way  ;  — 
Whence,  who  shall  say  ?     While  whither  utterly 

Is  hid  from  knowledge  as  night  hides  the  day. 
Yet  all  men  feel  the  current  of  its  tide ; 

We  know  the  push  of  unseen  hands  behind. 
Man's  earliest  conscious  thought  barbaric  tried 

With  groping  speech  a  name  for  this  to  find, 
And  called  it  God  or  destiny  or  fate  ; 

Weighing  assurance  by  the  weight  of  doubt; 
Greater  in  faith  because  of  fear  more  great ; 

Believing  most  what  least  man  might  search  out. 
To-day  Doubt,  with  her  sneering,  chilling  smile,  — 

She  who  destroys  all  faiths  which  time  hath  spared 


THE    TORCH-BEARERS  23 

As  the  weird  sphinx  with  her  entangling  guile 

Devoured  them  whom  her  riddle  had  ensnared  ; 
Doubt,  who  with  her  destructive  finger  breaks 

Each  gleaming  bubble  of  fair  fancy  frail, 
And  of  its  iridescent  beauty  makes 

A  drop  discolored,  —  laughs  to  scorn  the  tale 
Of  other  days  as  fable  void  and  vain. 

Only  one  thing  remains  she  may  not  reach  ; 
One  thing  which  man  can  never  doubt,  though  slain 

All  other  verities  the  ages  teach. 
Conviction  moves  us  still.     What  man  believes 

We  reverence,  whether  we  his  faith  may  share 
Or  wonder  how  some  wile  his  faith  deceives. 

We  feel  the  truth,  beyond  all  aware 
That  truth  lies  in  sincerity,  though  shame 

And  ignorance  have  bred  and  folly  mean,  — 
As  fire  is  pure  although  its  lambent  flame 

Feed  on  heaped  foulness,  festering  and  obscene. 


On  this  rests  all  the  faith  of  man  in  man  ; 

All  brotherhood,  all  knowledge  and  all  hope. 
On  this  rests  love.     All  human  dealing  scan, 

Nor  find  the  limits  of  its  gracious  scope  ! 


24  THE   TORCH-BEARERS 

Why  is  the  martyr's  name  the  highest  crown 

Which  man  may  win,  save  that  it  proves  him  true 
To  that  which  speaks  within  ?     Lo,  up  and  down 

The  wide,  cold  earth  their  influences  renew 
Courage  and  faith,  till  all  true  men  thereat 

Are  steadfast  in  their  turn,  aroused  thereby ;  — 
Not  for  the  thing  which  they  believed,  but  that 

They  did  believe,  and  dared  for  this  to  die  ! 

See  where  a  broken  host,  desperate  and  torn, 

Reddened  with  blood  as  with  the  sunset's  glow, 
Sweeps  down  the  field  in  one  last  charge  forlorn, 

Knowing  their  cause  is  lost,  yet  choosing  so 
To  fling  their  lives  up  in  the  face  of  fate,  — 

Too  resolute  to  fear,  too  great  to  grieve,  — 
Exultant  thus  their  death  to  dedicate 

To  that  which  they  through  life  might  not  achieve. 
And  all  mankind  shall  honor  them,  —  yea,  all  ! 

Though  they  fight  in  an  evil  cause,  they  fight 
For  truth  who  hold  conviction  firm ;  and  fall 

Martyrs  for  truth,  and  children  of  the  light. 

There  was  a  morn  when  all  Rome  stood  aghast. 
Riven  with  a  thunder-bolt  from  Jove  on  high 


THE    TORCH-BEARERS  25 

Yawned  in  the  forum  a  chasm  deep  and  vast 

As  hell  itself  might  at  the  bottom  lie. 
Tumultuous  terror  through  the  city  sped. 

Mothers  their  babies  clasped,  and  maids  as  pale 
As  lilies  lightning-seared,  fear-smitten  fled 

Up  to  the  pillared  temples,  with  wild  wail 
Crying  to  the  immortal  gods  for  aid. 

Men  whose  undaunted  might  Rome  boasted,  now 
Were  weak  as  cowards,  trembling  and  afraid. 

The  priests  with  smoking  sacrifice  and  vow 
Of  hecatombs  to  the  vexed  deities 

Strove  to  assuage  heaven's  wrath ;  until  at  last 
The  sullen  oracle  what  would  appease 

Indignant  Jove  proclaimed  :   "  Let  there  be  cast 
Into  the  gaping  depth  Rome's  choicest  thing." 

Then  rode  young  Mettus  Curtius  to  the  brink, 
And  reined  his  curd-white  horse  in  act  to  spring. 

"  Lo,  here,"  he  cried  ;   "  can  hoary  wisdom  think 
Of  aught  in  Rome  more  choice,  to  Rome  more  dear, 

More  precious  in  the  sight  of  gods  and  men 
Than  Rome's  young  manhood  ?  " 

Down  the  chasm  sheer 

He  leaped  to  death  and  glory  ;   and  again 
The  rifted  forum  trembled,  while  as  wave 


26  THE   TORCH-BEARERS 

Whelms  into  wave,  the  abyss  shuddering  closed, 
Gulfing  with  greedy  maw  the  dauntless  brave, 

Forever  deathless  there  in  death  reposed. 
We  count  his  faith  but  folly ;   yet  every  heart 

Still  at  his  deed  must  thrill,  because  he  died 
For  that  which  he  believed,  and  stands  apart 

By  that  supreme  devotion  sanctified. 

Woe  were  it  mole-blind  man  if  truth  for  him 

Meant  vision  piercing  down  eternity, 
Solving  creation's  riddles  far  and  dim, 

The  secret  of  infinity  to  see. 
We  scan  the  countless  errors  of  the  past 

And  know  them  false,  yet  these  were  very  proof 
Of  mankind's  truth.    Brave  hearts  have  held  them  fast, 

And  given  life  itself  in  their  behoof. 
Even  at  the  very  mouth  of  error's  den 

Will  singleness  of  soul  build  truth  a  shrine; 
Truth's  lily  flowers,  star-white,  in  falsehood's  fen ; 

Sincerity  makes  even  doubt  divine. 

See  where  Niagara  majestic  pours 

Its  flood  stupendous  down  the  precipice, 


THE    TORCH-BEARERS  2J 

And  from  its  thousand  throats  Titanic  roars 

Shoutings  which  quiver  through  the  wide  abyss.  — 
Seek  not  truth's  image  there ;   but  look  below 

Where  wild  the  whirling,  seething  Rapids  rush, 
Striving  in  wrath  and  tumult  to  and  fro, 

Wave  smiting  wave  as  rocks  together  crush, 
Force  battling  force  in  Nature's  feud  supreme, 

Confusion  infinite,  uncurbable  ;  — 
While  underneath  the  turmoil  still  the  stream 

Makes  ever  seaward  ;   undisturbable 
The  law  which  urges  on.      Each  jarring  wave, 

Each  boiling  whirlpool,  while  it  seems  to  stay. 
Yet  helps  the  river  onward  ;   floods  that  rave, 

Current  and  eddy,  all  one  law  obey. 
Thus  truth  goes  forward.     Every  thought  sincere, 

Conviction's  every  word  and  every  deed,  — 
Although  they  seem  to  hinder,  and  appear 

As  counter-currents,  — every  passing  creed, 
Each  noble  error  where  the  soul  is  true 

Though  human  weakness  blind  poor  human  sight, — 
Helps  the  truth  onward.     Be  our  glimpses  few 

Of  that  great  tide  which  to  some  ocean  bright 
Flows  on  forever ;   be  its  surface  vexed 

With  turmoils  infinite  ;   hidden  by  spray 


28  THE    TORCH-BEARERS 

And  foam  and  spume  ;   its  channels  all  perplexed, 
Yet  be  thou  sure  nothing  its  course  can  stay. 

What  man  believes  is  truth.     To  this  alone 

The  ages  cling.     The  greedy  hand  of  time 
Steals  all  but  this.      From  origin  unknown 

To  destiny  unknown  moves  man,  sublime 
In  this  alone,  that  he  forever  dwells, 

If  so  he  will,  with  inmost  being  lit 
By  truth's  clear  light  divine,  which  ever  wells 

From  the  deep  glories  of  the  infinite. 


VII 

Such  then  is  truth,  and  truth  shall  make  man  free. 

Strong  is  that  land  whose  every  son  is  true 
To  the  clear  flame  of  his  integrity. 

Strong  any  land,  though  armed  guards  be  few, 
Poor  her  defences,  weak  her  armament, 

Whose  sons  no  higher  good  than  truth  conceive ; 
But,  each  in  his  own  sphere,  remain  unbent, 

Unswerved  from  that  which  they  at  heart  believe. 


THE   TORCH-BEARERS  29 

Mighty  that  nation,  bless'd  among  the  lands, 

Whose  sons  think  first  of  country,  last  of  self;  — 
Woe  were  a  state  where  men  stretch  greedy  hands 

Grasping  for  place,  and  palms  that  itch  for  pelf; 
Whose  senates  have  become  a  market-place 

Where  laws  are  to  the  highest  bidder  sold ; 
Where  only  honesty  secures  disgrace, 

And  honor  has  no  measure  save  hard  gold  ; 
Where  parties  claim  the  people's  sufferance 

Not  for  their  virtue  but  for  foe's  misdeed ; 
Where  public  trusts  from  shame  to  shame  advance, 

And  faction  vies  with  faction  in  its  greed ; 
Where  pledges  are  like  balls  which  jugglers  toss ; 

Where  no  abuse  of  place  can  pass  belief; 
Where  patriotism  means  —  profit  and  loss  ; 

And  one  scarce  knows  a  statesman  from  a  thief! 


Shall  our  land  come  to  this  ?     Is  such  the  end 
Of  all  our  fathers'  loss  and  toil  divine  ? 

Their  burning  hope,  their  faith  which  could  transcend 
All  doubt  and  present  agony  ;   resign 

All  that  the  flesh  holds  dear,  counting  it  naught 
If  thus  they  might  to  their  own  souls  be  true; 


30  THE   TORCH-BEARERS 

If  thus  new  freedom  for  the  race  be  bought ; 

And  truth  its  mighty  kingdom  here  renew  ? 
Shall  our  land  ever  come  to  this,  —  our  state, 

The  last  hope  of  mankind  ?     Shall  it  betray 
The  high  trust  of  its  destiny,  —  ingrate, 

The  mock  of  all  the  earth,  shame  of  the  day, 
Stained  with  disgrace  too  deep  for  night  to  hide  ? 

Shall  our  loud-sounding  boasts  of  freedom,  made 
To  all  the  globe;   the  vows  of  swelling  pride 

Flung  in  the  face  of  man  and  heaven,  fade 
Like  wreaths  of  smoke  ? 

Forbid  it  all  the  roll 

Of  patriots  who  have  died  to  make  us  free ; 
Forbid  it,  martyrs,  great  and  stern  of  soul, 

White  as  Sir  Galahad  in  integrity; 
Forbid  it,  noble  forefathers,  who  gave 

Life  and  all  life's  best  boons  of  love  and  peace 
In  high-souled  manhood,  this  one  land  to  save 

For  its  great  destiny,  lest  freedom  cease, 
And  mankind's  hope  be  lost ! 

Forbid  it,  ye 

On  whom  the  burden  lies ;  ye,  by  whose  voice 
Is  made  the  choice  of  leaders,  —  yours  to  see 

That  these  be  men  to  make  the  truth  rejoice. 


THE    TORCH-BEARERS  31 

Not  statesmen,  dazzling  with  shrewd  eloquence, 

Not  politicians,  weaving  cunning  snares, 
Not  even  knaves  who  claim  omnipotence 

For  bank-accounts,  —  self-damning  unawares  !  — 
Can  shape  the  destiny  of  this  free  land. 

They  are  the  hands,  but  back  of  them  there  lies 
The  great  will  of  the  people.     All  shall  stand, 

All  fall  by  this,  whatever  chance  arise. 
However  cunning  tricksters  may  befool, 

Or  crafty  schemers  turn  the  law  aside ; 
However  leaders  eloquent  may  rule, 

Or  generous  statesmen  strive  for  good  to  guide ; 
It  is  the  people's  will  which  must  be  done. 

The  schemer  fears  it  as  a  slave  the  lash  ; 
Power  circles  round  it  as  earth  round  the  sun ; 

It  is  the  last  appeal  when  factions  clash. 
It  is  your  will,  men  of  America, 

Which  yonder  in  the  senate-house  is  wrought ; 
It  is  your  will,  and  if  anathema 

Be  its  desert,  upon  yourselves  'tis  brought. 
Your  will  is  law;   and  if  you  stand  aloof, 

Idle  in  indolent  indifference 
When  shame  and  evil  put  the  land  to  proof, 

Where  shall  our  country  look  for  her  defence  ? 


32  THE    TORCH-BEARERS 

It  is  from  your  conviction  must  be  born 

The  truth  which  makes  the  nation  nobly  free. 
Though  night  should  mock  the  very  hope  of  morn, 

Hold  high  the  torch  of  your  integrity  ! 
Speak  from  your  very  souls,  and  be  not  stilled 

By  plea  of  party  or  by  greed  of  gain  ;  — 
Freedom  was  ne'er  by  honest  error  killed ; 

By  falsity  alone  can  it  be  slain. 
The  chain  has  strength  of  its  least  link  alone  ; 

One  loosened  sod  the  avalanche  lets  slip  ; 
The  arch  falls  crashing  through  one  crumbling  stone ; 

One  traitor  mars  the  goodliest  fellowship. 
That  land  alone  is  safe  whose  every  son 

Is  true  to  his  own  faith  and  cannot  fail ; 
Where  men  cannot  be  trusted  one  by  one 

Little  appeals  to  all  shall  have  avail  ! 
Be  not  beguiled  by  busy  theorists 

Who  would  upon  the  state  all  burdens  lay. 
The  state  but  subject  to  men's  will  exists, 

Is  wise  or  weak,  is  true  or  false,  as  they. 
It  is  in  self-hood  which  makes  man  divine 

The  strength  of  nations  lies.     No  liberty 
Can  be  where  men  are  but  a  mass  supine; 

Each  must  be  true  or  all  cannot  be  free. 


THE    TORCH-BEARERS  33 

Far  off  in  the  old  misty  Norseland  sang 

A  bard  heroic  ere  the  Viking  prow 
Had  found  out  Vinland ;   and  his  song,  which  rang 

Above  the  clang  of  swords,  avails  us  now. 
"  Thyself  thyself  direct !  "  the  old  bard  cried. 

The  inspiration  of  that  high  word  still 
Thrills  through  us.     Thrust  all  meaner  guides  aside 

And  follow  thy  best  self.     Thy  good  and  ill 
Lie  in  thine  own  sure  keeping.     For  the  land 

And  for  thyself  thou  art  thyself  as  fate. 
No  other  man  can  do  thy  part ;   none  stand 

An  instant  in  thy  place  or  soon  or  late. 
Thine  own  soul  be  thy  judge  to  prove  thy  worth, 

To  try  thy  deeds  by  thy  conviction's  law ;  — 
And  what  were  all  the  glories  of  the  earth 

If  this  tribunal  dread  find  blame  or  flaw  ! 
Though  plaudits  of  the  nations  to  the  skies 

Proclaim  thee  great,  if  thou  art  small  and  mean 
How  canst  thou  deck  thy  shame  in  such  disguise 

That  by  thyself  thy  baseness  be  not  seen  ? 
What  though  thy  virtues  choke  the  trump  of  fame 

If  thou  shouldst  know  them  false?      Better  despite 
And  burning  infamy  and  bitter  blame 

Than  praise  unmerited.     Better  the  blight 


34  THE   TORCH-BEARERS 

Of  all  men's  censure  undeserved  than  one 

Quick  taunt  of  self,  —  for  what  man  is  is  all.  , 
Only  the  truth  can  matter;   and  undone 

Is  he  who  for  the  shadow  shall  let  fall 
The  substance. 

Yet,  though  self-hood  be  supreme, 

The  lowest  deep  to  which  man's  soul  is  led 
Is  selfishness.     Thyself  from  self  redeem. 

The  man  who  lives  for  self  alone  is  dead. 
Better  St.  Simeon  Stylites,  caged 

Upon  his  narrow  pillar,  than  the  man 
With  his  own  petty  cares  alone  engaged. 

Not  such  shall  save  the  land  ;  but  they  who  scan 
The  broad  horizon  of  humanity, 

Asking  their  very  souls  what  they  may  do 
To  help  men  on  and  up.     They  are  most  free 

Who  most  for  others  dare  to  self  be  true. 
Speak  out  by  action  thy  soul's  deep  belief; 

Be  true  to  all  by  faith  to  thine  own  sooth  ; 
Amid  whatever  night  of  doubt  and  grief 

Hold  high  the  ever-blazing  torch  of  truth  ! 


THE    TORCH-BEARERS  35 


Men  of  our  college,  gathered  here  to-day, 

If  this  be  an  hard  saying  ;  if  I  seem 

Too  much  to  play  the  preacher,  let  the  word 

Or  stand  or  fall  as  it  to  you  is  true. 

To-day  the  land  has  bitter  need  of  us. 

Across  the  sea  what  myriads  swarming  come 

From  the  dark  pestilential  dens  which  reek 

With  all  the  Old  World's  foulness.     Those  to  whom 

Knowledge  is  given  stand  in  double  trust, 

Guardians  of  liberty  and  of  the  right. 

No  man  can  flee  responsibility, 

Which  surely  as  his  shadow  to  him  clings. 

Ye  are  the  torch-bearers  ;  stand  firm,  stand  staunch. 

Light  all  the  coming  new-born  century 

With  splendid  blazon  in  the  name  of  truth  / 


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